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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242650">Odd Jobs Require Patching-Up Wounds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeHunter/pseuds/AmeHunter'>AmeHunter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Best Friends, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Secret Identities, Very mild hurt/comfort, injuries, just wanted drake and fenton to be bros for a bit, tags? whose she?, written as platonic but could be seen as shipping, you do you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:13:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeHunter/pseuds/AmeHunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenton gets hurt in a small lab accident, Drake owes him from getting hurt during acting, and Launchpad really just wants them to tell each other they're not actually getting hurt from lab accidents and acting.<br/>Featuring a good old-fashioned Darkwing Duck marathon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Drake Mallard &amp; Launchpad McQuack, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera &amp; Drake Mallard, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera &amp; Launchpad McQuack, Launchpad McQuack &amp; Drake Mallard &amp; Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Odd Jobs Require Patching-Up Wounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Fenton, wake up,” Drake sighed, walking over to the chaise lounge chair Fenton was curled up on, tapping his arm. The other swatted at him, grumbling, as he raised an eyebrow. “You can’t just sleep in the lab, buddy, get up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> A muffled “Says who?” accompanied some shooing motions, as Fenton sat up, flinching slightly. Drake eyed him, the poor guy looked like he had been dragged through the wringer a few times. He rubbed his eyes, regretting the motion and cradling one of his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably Gyro-” Fenton shot him an incredulous look, glancing over Drake’s shoulder at the desk where Gyro usually fell asleep at some point, then back at Drake, “fine, Scrooge probably wouldn’t be to keen to find out you were sleeping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced over Fenton, eyeing the assorted bruises and scratches, and for a moment he wished Fenton didn’t work in a highly dangerous lab where he got hurt on the regular. Though, Drake kept this to himself, mostly because that would make Drake a hypocrite. “You look awful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks,” Fenton smiled, despite the venomous sarcasm, stumbling his way onto his feet. Drake was quick to wrap an arm around Fenton, steadying him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What even happened this time?” Drake led him to the elevator, frowning whenever Fenton’s face pinched slightly. He silently declared he would kill Gyro Gearloose with his bare hands if permitted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s really, a funny story, Dr. Gearloose was working on a desk-sorter,” He pauses, worries splashing his gaze, “Maybe? It’s not important, a something-sorter, anyways. He stepped out, and I happened to put some blueprints on his desk, kind of my job, but the sorter detected those, and I basically got beat up by a machine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want me to fight Gyro for you? You know I will, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve tried to fight someone-- Don’t laugh! You get hurt like every other week in that lab,” Drake said, squinting at Fenton, who simply continued to chuckle and wave him off. “Launchpad picked me up and said he was coming to get you after a lab accident, figured I’d save him a trip, someone has to take care of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a child,” Fenton said, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never said you were,” Drake hummed, “Plus, consider it payback for the last time you patched me up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was that the rosebush incident? Or perhaps the crossed wires tale of ‘18?” Fenton smirked as Drake floundered for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Touché, Fenton, touché,” In all honesty, Drake’s injuries come from his late-night vigilante patrols, McDuck Studios doesn’t even have dangerous stunts, quite the opposite. The rosebush accident truly was a rosebush, just, it had much more to do with Bushroot Experiment #42 gone wrong rather than a misplaced set piece. This was also true for the crossed wires, though that was just Megavolt being Megavolt, declaring his love for lightbulbs. Saint Canard is weird, man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator dinged, Launchpad grinning at the two as they stepped out, immediately taking a place at the other side of Fenton, eagerly glancing between the two. “Heya Drake, Fenton!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for picking me up, Launchpad, I owe you one, big time,” Fenton clambered into the limo with the assistance of Drake and Launchpad, settling in the back with Drake as Launchpad closed the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it!” Launchpad began, waving Fenton off, “I was already giving Drake a ride to the garage so we could binge Darkwing Duck! You wanna join us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fenton chuckled, already drooping much like a flower that hadn’t been watered in weeks, mumbling a sure. He gave a lazy thumbs up, for good measure, and practically curled up in the seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drake had barely clicked his seatbelt into place before Fenton’s quiet snores started. He took a moment to adjust Fenton, fixing his seatbelt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s real nice of you, Drake,” Launchpad glanced back at his friend in the mirror, half-focusing on the road so Fenton could stay asleep. (Not that it would truly matter, Fenton hadn’t slept in around two and a half days.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He always offers to patch me up after some of the rougher nights of patrol, it’s only fair I do the same when he gets banged up in the lab,” He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face, “I’ve been so close to telling him a few times, but it’s too dangerous, even for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(What Drake doesn’t see is that Launchpad smiled, and dropped it just as quickly, disguising it as his focus being on the road. It wouldn’t be that dangerous, but Drake simply didn’t know that. He’s grateful Drake wasn’t looking at him because his mood shift might have been the tipping point for either of their identities, Drake’s observant like that. He smiles again when Drake looks back up.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would I get fired from McDuck Studios if I tried to strangle Gyro?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Launchpad gave a startled laugh, turning to face Drake. “Listen, I know you may think otherwise, but Gyro isn’t that bad of a guy, he’s just a socially awkward scientist. He’s like Fenton... just opposite,” The car jerked a bit too much for his liking, so he turned around, opting to glance through the mirror, “And no, to be honest, Scrooge would probably understand, but Fenton wouldn’t be happy with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair enough, I suppose, I just don’t understand how this keeps happening LP! You’d think he’d get fed up with it, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y’know, he probably thinks the same about you. Not to mention, as much as he gets hurt, he loves his job. He gets to help people, and you know exactly how that feels,” Launchpad grinned as he glanced up at the mirror, Drake looking like he’d been struck with a realization.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, LP,” He paused, pinned with utter confliction, “How do you think he’d react if I told him? I mean, we know he’s not the biggest fan of Gizmoduck, but Duckburg doesn’t cover Darkwing- hell, even Saint Canard’s coverage is minimal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think he’d be honored,” Launchpad says after a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honored?” Drake prompted, glancing over at Fenton.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, honored that you trusted him with your secret identity. He understands how important those are, after all,” Launchpad immediately regrets the choice of words, his face scrunched up like he ate something sour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well yeah, making Gizmodork’s tech and all, I know he’s trustworthy, but what if someone figures out he knows me, LP?” Face buried in his hands, he sighs, “I wouldn’t want to be putting him in any danger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think he can handle himself pretty well, not to mention, his mom’s a cop and he spends most of his time in one of the safest places in Duckburg, if not in Calisota.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked more conflicted than before, humming and pondering the outcomes. “Maybe, eventually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re here!” Launchpad announced, tires squealing and the limo bumping into the garage door. “Will you wake him for me? I’ll go get food ready, how do burritos sounds?” He’s gone by the time Drake goes to answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fenton, wake up, we’re here,” He whispered, nudging Fenton. The other snaps up, looking around with wide eyes, processing everything for a moment before settling back down. Drake helped him out of the limo, “Morning, sleeping beauty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fenton laughed, starting to stretch slightly as he began to wake up more, “I was tired, sue me, Drake ‘I’d die without coffee’ Mallard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair, but so would you, hypocrite,” Drake led him towards the garage, helping him settle down on the couch in front of the TV, the Darkwing Duck DVD’s propped against its side. “Time to clean those up, buddy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yay, my favorite part,” Fenton said, flatly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drake glanced around for a moment, trying to remember where the first-aid kit ended up when Launchpad was cleaning his own scrapes a few nights ago. “Launchpad’s making burritos for us,” He paused, turning towards the curtained off kitchen area, “LP! Where’d we put the first-aid kit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Behind the couch, Drake!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, LP!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really don’t have to do this,” Fenton glanced at the kit Drake dropped next to him, tapping on his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I do. It’s only fair, after all,” Drake hummed, once more looking over the injuries. “How bad do the bruises hurt?” Fenton shook his head in response, which quite frankly, made him a liar, but Drake decided against pressing, for now. He stood, disappearing for a moment, only to reappear with a washcloth, gently patting scratches and cuts. Dabbing Neosporin on tiny, pink, bandages, Drake put them on some of the open wounds that littered Fenton’s face. “LP! Do you have frozen peas?” He’s pretty sure the answer was yes, that was, unless, Launchpad ate them within the last three days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup! I’ll bring them out in a minute! Sit him on the fluffy edge of the couch so he can prop his arm up!” Launchpad’s voice rang out from the other side of the curtains, “Fenton, what do you want to drink? We have Pep, water, milk- because I got it and not Drake- or I could make a quick trip to the store and grab something else!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pep’s fine, Launchpad, thank you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What else hurts?” Drake nudged him toward the right of the couch, propping his arm up with a few pillows, leaving it to be wrapped in bandages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m mostly sore,” He hissed, Drake starting the bandage on his arm, “but it’s nothing rest won’t fix.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some of those cuts looked pretty rough, did the robot have nails or something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fenton chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “My guess is it’s probably from the glass it threw at me. I’m fine, though!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It... threw a glass at you? Like your head? And the glass broke? Are you sure you don’t have a concussion, or something, Fenton?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine! No concussion, I promise!” A flashlight wound up being shined in his eyes, anyway, Drake becoming contented once his pupils dilated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, is there a concussion?” Launchpad asked, handing Fenton a can of Pep and Drake a bag of peas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I think he’s good, for now, at least,” Drake squinted, handing over aspirin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! I told you so,” Fenton downed the pills, nodding thanks to Drake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put these against your face,” Drake pushed over the peas as Launchpad turned back towards the kitchen. “It’s burritos and Darkwing Duck time!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drake basically skipped over to the kitchen to help Launchpad with plates, the two practically ran back, fueled by pure excitement for the show they both lived by. Drake threw himself in the middle, handing Fenton over a plate, jittering with excitement. Launchpad put the first DVD in, eagerly falling backward into the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daring duck of mystery, champion of right!” Launchpad and Drake looked like they had done this a thousand times before, mostly because they had, and neither missed a word. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Halfway through </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beauty and the Beet,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fenton’s eyes had drifted shut, only to shoot open again a few moments later. Drake’s was glancing over at him, trying to gauge a reaction on Darkwing, and though Fenton was enjoying the show, he looked utterly exhausted, now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drake nudged Launchpad, slightly nodding at Fenton, and the two shared a look. Drake took the now-warm peas from him after the next set of eye flutters, handing them back to Launchpad. “He seemed to really like Darkwing, maybe if he hears about the actual superhero and likes him, just maybe I’ll tell him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Launchpad grinned, ruffling the feathers on Drake’s head. “He will, I bet you. Plates?” Launchpad took the plates from Drake, walking over to the kitchen, Drake right behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for everything, LP. Dinner was wonderful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course! Do you just want to crash here for the night? We can watch more Darkwing and let him sleep, then I can take you both to work before I go to see what Scrooge has planned for the day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That sounds perfect, Launchpad,” He paused, turning to glance back into the living room, “We should probably let his mom know, though,” He smiled, deviously, “Maybe she’ll help me strangle Gyro!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> letting you talk to Fenton’s mother, because she would probably take you up on the offer. Go lay him down for me, will you? I’ll get the beanbags in a minute.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drake popped back out of the kitchen, crouching in front of Fenton to unwrap and rewrap the bandages on his arm. He set one of the pillows on the opposite end of the couch, and eased Fenton down, quickly covering him with the throw blanket that rested on the back of the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drake stepped back into the kitchen, catching the end of the phone call with Ms. Cabrera, “It’s no problem at all Ms. C! He’ll be fine, he’s all cleaned up now, anyways, nothing too bad. Yeah, yeah, I’ll get him to work just fine, it’s no big deal. Thank you, Ms. C!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beanbags time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup! I’d say three or four more episodes, we both still have to work tomorrow, and surviving on coffee isn’t healthy for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drake pouted, though it rather quickly dissolved into giggles. “Alright, fair, let’s go!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t even the entirety of the next episode, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Getting Antsy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>before Drake fell asleep in the faded purple beanbag chair, head resting against the couch right below Fenton’s head. Launchpad laughed, snapped a picture, and made Drake a partial nest out of the beanbag chairs and blankets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They looked so stress-free at that moment Launchpad physically couldn’t be bothered by holding both of their secrets. And it’ll be disturbed when they both get their coffee tomorrow, when they all split paths for the day, but he wouldn’t want it any other way.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>honestly, i just wrote this for fun, but its been in my wips since before the hiatus was over, Let's Get Dangerous spurred me to finish it. I just wanted Fenton and Drake to hangout platonically and be bros without knowing each other as superheroes, so I wrote it. Launchpad just weaseled his way into the fic and he fit perfectly.<br/>this was just fun! i welcome comments but please try and be a gentle! this work I didn't take all too seriously and just wanted to have fun with.</p>
<p>tumblr: ame-hunter<br/>twitter: amehunterducks<br/>come talk with me!</p>
<p>also might turn this into a series, idk, just vibin' atm.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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